|The Brig by Mason Powell|
This classic gay BDSM novel, set near the end of the Viet Nam war, has been out of print for almost 20 years. The Brig is a brutally dark erotic drama of a young sailor confined to a military prison where he tortured with pain, fear, sexuality, and mind games to force changes in his psyche and break his spirit. The sailor learns things about himself and his captors that will transform him and challenge those who hold him. (M/M)
Breakfast was the same, and lunch was the same, and dinner was the same; and getting up the next morning with the runs was the same too, and that worried me. Were they going to feed me what the law required, but starve me to death by putting laxatives in it every day?
I didn’t have time to think about it. The door opened and I was marched to the shower again.
Once more the shower, and once more the parade rest under the water that slowly got hotter and hotter until it was scalding. Then, when I thought I was going to pass out from the heat and the pain, the sergeant barked: “Ten-shun! About face! Parade rest!”
And I, having been conditioned by military training, responded to the command without thinking, and there I was, the front of my body in the stream of scalding water, the fiery shower pouring down my chest, singeing my belly, and burning my cock and balls. Unable to deal with it, I cried out, and instantly the water stopped. I doubled over at the pain, clutching my balls, my mind gone for the moment in the sheer pain.
I heard the Marines chuckling quietly, but I didn’t care. My balls hurt too much to care about anything. Then I heard the sergeant speak, and I felt the horror of panic.
“I said parade rest. I didn’t give you permission to break. Corporal, bring the heat up slower this time.”
There was nothing I could do. I was in the Brig. These men could do anything they wanted to me! But I realized, even as I stood up and assumed parade rest, that as long as my mind was my own, I would survive.
The water started, pouring down my chest, warm and pleasant. I looked at the shower as if it were a cobra spitting venom at me. The temperature increased. From the corner of my eye I could see the corporal who was ever so slowly turning the handle of the faucet. He was as young as I was, with very fair skin and freckles. His hair was red, and he looked like a farm boy. The smirk on his face didn’t look evil. If I weren’t his victim, I wouldn’t have believed he were capable of torturing someone.
The water reached the scalding stage. I clenched my fists so tight I thought I must surely dig my nails right through my palms. My cock and balls had shrunk up almost completely inside me in a vain attempt to defend themselves from the boiling water. I thought that in another minute I would faint from the pain, but it went on, and then I thought maybe I would throw up.
Then it ended, and I stood shaking. When the towel hit me I was barely able to use it and I dressed myself in a daze, clumsy and quaking. They marched me back to my cell and put me in, and I fell onto the cot in a wave of nausea.
This was only my third day in the Brig, I thought, and they had already done this to me!